


All nightmare long

by Moonlight_Uni



Series: One shots [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, One Shot Collection, Other, Pain, Past Torture, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlight_Uni/pseuds/Moonlight_Uni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightmare solo done for my Bucky's roleplay partner on twitter.</p>
<p>Part of my one shots series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All nightmare long

All nightmare long

For most people rest is a sanctuary, a time to repair, evaluate, grow stronger and put the world to rights. However for others the very idea of rest can be a nightmare unto itself. Bucky was most definitely in the second category on this one. Usually he didn’t sleep because he simply didn’t have to. There was no real need for his body to seek out sleep like conventional humans since not all of him was human anyway. In the soldier’s veins ran some the identical serum which had been injected into Captain Rogers although at a much lower blood saturation. It’s what granted Bucky his durability, long standing endurance and strength. That serum also meant sleep was not a necessity to the soldier so he avoided potential compromise that would require him to pay a visit to the sandman.

Despite all of his resolve and resistance though Bucky had a hard time even remaining in focus after his revelation to Snowy about Natasha. He was too drained to even think about going after his lover, find out what was going on inside that complex mind housed inside Snowy’s skull. Long after the deity had disappeared Bucky went silent and after pulling the tie keeping his hair partway off his face, navigated his apartment flicking off everything with a light output. Submerging his home into darkness acted as a reflection on Bucky’s present mood; brooding, frustrated and dark. After all the lights were put out Bucky took one last glance out the window before tugging the drapes across to keep out the street lighting. His feet turned in the direction of his bedroom and disappeared into the ink shadows, leaving the door ajar and finally sliding himself into bed.

The warrior fell into a restless, cold sleep more easily than he wanted and in his last waking moments it felt like the devil’s hand itself was ripping him from reality. Across his body the sheets were draped at strange, phantom angles that peaked where they reached his knees and slid over his hips but stopped at his waist which was exposed upwards. As he turned over, hair flicking over his face Bucky twisted the linens with one hand and dragged them up his form while a foreign word began to repeat itself over... and over. It was Russian since he so rarely dreamed in English these days and it was his own name; Zima. Bucky repeated it until his lips were likely dried and throat sore from the rough word being hissed out until that devil’s grasp took him again into something more terrifying. He really /didn’t/ want to be asleep now.  
The demons of nightmares....

His handlers had him in again to debrief him post mission and the soldier’s eyes were flickering between the men to his left and the one in charge before him. Zima’s eyes were sunken, pained and conflicted; who could he trust in this room. Gut instinct told him nothing and no-one and that he was on his own for survival. However conditioning and loyalty kept him at their grindstone no matter what he started to feel because knowing full well they’d wipe anything from him afterwards, erasing personality and new memories was a real threat. As Zima snapped between the men in white coats and the superior at his front he found one of them pushing his shoulder, so he was resting against the cold leather seat behind him. He couldn’t close his eyes and dream of anything better and he learnt early on sleep was a luxury that would only get him smacked out it. So he never slept as a result. 

His scarred skin hit the leather and Zima didn’t even flinch, he asked no questions even as they gave him something to bite down on. Clamping his teeth into it was nothing compared to the pain lurking just ahead of him and Zima was pained inside; he wanted those memories, he didn’t want them stolen again and as a man with a surgical mask pinned him down and brought a visor down over his face, from the nose upwards Zima prayed. Inside he was begging that his last pre mind wipe thoughts would stay, even for a moment so he could have something to call his own when he stepped out a blank slate on the other side of this torture. Zima bit down, jaw ripped tight with tension and after a stab of pain across his mind there was a bright flash of neon that pierced into the soldier’s eyes. His mind prickled like there was a snake crawling through, sinking poison into everything good that tried to live inside and strangling it before moving on. 

Fingers, both flesh and metal were clawing at the arms of his torture chair and he screamed.

The men in the room cared little for the pain they were putting their little puppet through for he was merely an asset to them, another weapon and this was part of his maintenance schedule. Nothing more than cleanup, like a good soldier would clean his rifle before shooting again; this was all his handlers were doing. The soldier writhed in pain against his restraints, pulling at them and his handlers only shoved him back down with a punch to the chest. That winded him and he was corralled back inside his own mind again as their poison seeped in, disconnecting the links Zima had made between his dark reality and the world outside. The handlers were very thorough about this and kept pushing until they broke through every mental wall he had, forcing him to comply and listen to only their demands for loyalty. It was some time before they seemed satisfied and the machines were powering down, Zima relaxed like a sedated patient in his chair and his skin wearing the colour of death itself. He breathed in shallow gasps as they lifted the visor from his eyes and in Zima’s glacial hues almost no colour, only that of a dead man, the very pallor of a ghost itself.

Can he wake up now?

Bucky couldn’t breathe and sleep was strangling him like a noose in the dark, he wanted out and he needed to cut the ropes. His cybernetic fingers caught onto the sheets that were almost ruined and he tore through them with the ease of decapitating a man until they shred themselves. Another twist and he moved over, curling up for just a second until the soldier bolted up, backing straight against the wall behind him feeling the cold and unwelcome prickles of sweat pouring down his body. His eyes shot open and he shouted out something into the dark, a helpless reaction to the devils he had. “оставьте меня в покое ... я не твой больше!”

“Leave me alone, I’m not yours anymore!”

It was desperate and Bucky dragged a shaking hand up to his face, rubbing cool metal up the bridge of his nose and into the hollows of his eyes which closed to keep out the dark room he’d woken up. Unexpectedly he was moist at the brims of his eyes and growled, streaking the salt away from his gaze so it made his lashes wet. Every feeling, every tickle of wet and cold was amplified on his skin and Bucky hoped, while he sat there feeling vulnerable and cold, that his lover would come back. Sometimes he couldn't face these things alone and right now Bucky felt useless to help himself. 

/Snowy/ where are you....


End file.
